An unlikely queen
by Second Star On The Left
Summary: Lysa Tully had always felt the lesser sister - younger, not as beautiful, not so worthy of anyone's love (Father, Uncle Brynden, Edmure, Petyr) - but that did not matter. Not when Prince Rhaegar (like a prince from her favourite songs, like Aemon the Dragonknight but without having forsworn wife and children) was smiling at her with his sad violet eyes and calling her my lady
1. Chapter 1

Father had told her to smile and stand tall and not be nervous, but how was she supposed to not be nervous?

Cat didn't understand, not really - Cat had known Brandon for years, after all, and he was only heir to Winterfell, only a Stark.

Lysa swallowed anxiously and straightened her shoulders and forced herself not to huddle close to Father's side as _her_ betrothed rode through the gates on a beautiful white horse, his silvery-pale hair tied back neatly with a deep black velvet ribbon.

There were other men, but Lysa had eyes only for Rhaegar Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone, heir to the Iron Throne, and, by the next full moon - her lord husband.

* * *

She left Cat sitting between Petyr and Brandon's brother, Eddard, who seemed a dull sort but with whom Cat seemed thoroughly engaged, and agreed to show Prince Rhaegar the grounds.

"I wish to reassure you, my lady," he said as she led him through the godswood, Ser Arthur Dayne a pale shadow behind them, white armour and white-blonde hair and white sword, and she leaned a little closer because the prince was so soft-spoken, although not, as she was, because he was shy. "You may have heard... Unpleasant stories about my father. He may speak unkindly, but he does not mean it."

Lysa had heard that the King was quite mad, but she did not dare say so to the prince.

"You will like my mother, I think," he went on, a whisper of an encouraging smile turning up one corner of his mouth. Lysa wondered what it would be like to kiss him - she would find out soon enough, she supposed. She wondered if it would feel different to Petyr's kisses when they played at kissing games. Petyr's lips were always cool, because he liked to chew on peppermint leaves, but she thought that mayhaps Prince Rhaegar's mouth would be warm, just like him. She huddled slightly closer to that warmth, because it was _cold_ out, and she was wearing her prettiest cloak, but it was not by any means her warmest. "The Queen is a kind and gracious woman."

"You have a brother, as well, I am told?" she tried, pleased that her lisp didn't show - she hated her lisp more than almost anything, even though Septa had trained it out of her. It usually acted up when she was nervous, as she was now, but her voice was steady, her words clear, and she flushed with relief. "He is younger than you, your highness?"

"Almost of an age with _your _brother, my lady," he agreed, his smile blooming fully now. "His name is Viserys - you will like him, too, I hope. He is a good boy, if a little rambunctious."

"I am sure I will, your highness" she said eagerly, smiling as widely as she dared. It was coming to dusk now, and the fading light caught on the lovely purple colour of the prince's melancholy eyes.

"Please, Lady Lysa," he said quietly, "my name is Rhaegar. You may use it."

She couldn't be certain, but she thought that Ser Arthur's cough sounded suspiciously like a laugh.


	2. Chapter 2

Lysa had always liked riding - preferably with Cat and Petyr - and had never felt so nervous on horseback as she did while riding with the prince.

"You are not used to riding, my lady?" he asked as they neared Darry, and she blushed in mortification that he had noticed her discomfort.

"Not- not sidesaddle, your highness," she admitted, wondering if he would be horrified at the thought of his betrothed riding astride like a man. She did so desperately want for him to like her, and Father and Septa had always said that a proper lady did not ride like a man. "That is-"

"If you would be more comfortable ride otherwise, my lady, I am sure it will not offend Prince Rhaegar's _delicate _sensibilities," Ser Oswell Whent said, and Lysa assumed he was teasing because he always seemed to be. "I'm sure we can find breeches for you, if you'd rather."

She blushed again, bit her lip when she noticed Father frowning, but then the prince smiled.

"I would not wish for you to be uncomfortable, my lady," he said gently. "When we reach the city, I will see that riding gowns are commissioned for you, if you would like."

"I could not-"

He reached out and took her hand in his - he had lovely, elegant hands, with long fingers and the softest skin - and smiled, just a little.

"You are to be my wife, Lady Lysa," he said, and Lysa found that she very much liked the way he said her name. "You could do a great many things."

* * *

Lysa _hated _Robert Baratheon.

She knew it was wrong - he was Prince Rhaegar's cousin, lord of an old and noble house, of the Stormlands as well, and by all reports popular and well-loved, but when Lysa overheard him laughing with Eddard Stark and some others of the prince's companions that Brandon Stark would have the prize of House Tully, that Lysa was a poor bride indeed for a prince and that she would not have been a bride at all yet had the King not wanted to spite Tywin Lannister...

She _hated _him.

It was Lord Jon Connington that found her in the sept, and she imagined that she looked a mess - but he merely sat quietly at her side before the Maiden, his hair as red as her own in the candlelight.

"Lord Robert is uncouth," he said at last. "And has a tendency to speak ill of women who will not be his to bed, particularly when he is in his cups. You would do best to ignore him, my lady."

"What he said of Lord Tywin," she whispered, hardly daring to speak the words aloud. "Was it true?"

Lysa remembered Lord Tywin coming to Riverrun, remembered talk of her being betrothed to his heir, Ser Jaime, remembered the whispers that the King's son and the Hand's daughter were to be wed, but it had not happened. Instead, Lysa would be a Princess of House Targaryen, and she neither knew nor particularly cared what would happen to Cersei Lannister, because she had not liked the older girl one bit.

"The prince needed a wife of high birth and good breeding," Lord Connington said quietly, and Lysa thought he looked terribly sad when he set his gaze on his folded hands. "You are both, and beautiful besides - you will make him a good wife, my lady."

Lord Connington had barely spoken to her until that moment, so Lysa was surprised by his endorsment, but she smiled nonetheless.

"Thank you, my lord," she said, sniffing into her handkerchief (Cat had stitched it for her on the announcment of her betrothal, with a tiny silver dragon on Tully blue). "You have been very kind."

"His highness is fond of you already, my lady," Lord Connington assured her, rising and offering her his hand. "He finds pleasure in few things, but he smiles for you."

* * *

She had expected to be intimidated by Ser Arthur Dayne, legendary Sword of the Morning, but there was a gentleness to him that Lysa took comfort in when Prince Rhaegar's other companions were being loud and boistrous.

"King's Landing is loud," he told her as he rode with her and Cat and Petyr, "but you will get used to it - my home at Starfall is even more isolated and quiet than Riverrun, considerably more so, and coming to King's Landing was somewhat shocking. Besides, his highness spends plenty of time at Dragonstone, where it is quieter. The sea is very lovely there, my lady, I think you will like it."

"I have never seen the sea," Lysa admits. "Is it as beautiful as people say it is?"

"I grew up swimming in it every day with my brother and sister," Ser Arthur said with a smile. "I love it very much, but there are others who feel differently."

Ser Arthur was always kind to her, and Ser Oswell, too, in his strange way, seemed kind. Cat assured her that Lord Eddard, Brandon's brother, was nice too, although he seemed near as shy as Lysa herself, and Lord Connington, though distant, was quite sweet.

Which still left her with Robert Baratheon, who she loathed, and the two Hightower brothers, who were... Odd.

Gunthor in particular was strange, because at least Baelor was odd solely because he talked of nothing besides his wife and little son, Lady Elia who was a Martell and a princess by birth, and little Olyvar, who apparently looked precisely like his mother except for his hair. Lysa enjoyed Ser Baelor's company, because he was very easy, but Ser Gunthor always seemed nervous, which was discomfiting.

* * *

Still, none of that mattered when Prince Rhaegar guided Lysa to sit by him in the evenings, when he gently chided her for not using his name, when they walked outside with Ser Arthur or Ser Oswell a polite distance away and, once, when it was very cold, Prince Rhaegar went as far as to drape her in his own cloak.

"A practice for what is to come," he said with one of his quiet little smiles, and then he pressed his lips to her gloved knuckles and led her back to the inn, the moonlight making his hair milkglass pale and highlighting the unearthly whiteness of his skin, the striking colour of his eyes. He was so beautiful that she could hardly believe that he was truly meant to be hers.

She often felt as though they were being watched when they went on their walks - usually by Father, sometimes by Cat or by Uncle Brynden, sometimes by one of the prince's companions - and she could not quite quash the tiny part of her that wished Petyr to watch her the way he watched Cat with Brandon Stark.


	3. Chapter 3

Lysa chose not to dwell on her meeting with the King, partly because half of what he said had been entirely incomprehensible but mostly because he had _terrified _her.

The Queen was something else altogether - Lysa would never admit it, not even to Cat (_especially _not to Cat), but she rather saw something of herself in sad, lovely Queen Rhaella, who was denied the one she loved and...

Well, Lysa supposed the prince was a very different man to his father, and he was not her _brother, _so it was different. But still, she thought she mayhaps understood some of the Queen's soft grief because she felt something similar in her chest when Petyr looked at Cat with moon eyes.

"My mother likes you very much," the prince said softly as they walked the gardens that evening. "She says you have a good heart, my lady," and Lysa basked as much in the prince's smile as his mother's praise, because no matter what Lord Jon said, Lysa knew that the prince smiled as rarely for her as for anyone else. There was such a well of sadness within him, and she wished that she might alleviate his sorrow because his smile was _so _lovely.

"Her Grace is a true lady," Lysa said, and she was rewarded with another of those smiles - Ser Arthur was behind them, and Lysa had been relieved to find that even here in the Red Keep, it was he who was the prince's companion and guard more than any other brother of the Kingsguard. "I enjoyed her company very much."

"She is sometimes lonely, I think," the prince said, melancholy heavy in the slump of his shoulders. "She seemed brighter after your time together this morning, Lady Lysa."

She still liked the way he said her name. It made her smile and blush just a little. She hoped he wouldn't notice.

"I should like to spend more time with her," she said honestly. "Her Grace mentioned other ladies...?"

"Ah, yes," the prince agreed, glancing back behind them. "Arthur may have some better insight than me - his lady sister is one of them."

"Your sister, ser?"

"Aye, Ashara," Ser Arthur said with a smile that, had Lysa not been the subject of the prince's rare smiles these past days, would have made her knees weak. "She is... A little wild by your northern standards, but she is here as companion to Princess Elia - Lady Elia Hightower, that is, Ser Baelor's lady wife."

Lysa thought that mayhaps Ser Arthur knew that soft grief, too, by the way his mouth turned at the mention of Ser Baelor's wife.

"Tell me of the ladies," she encouraged, both to distract him and for her own benefit - she would have the Queen, and she would have Cat, but they would still be strangers, older than her and more refined, probably more beautiful and cleverer and-

"You'll like them, my lady," Ser Arthur assured her. "My sister is somewhat like yours, but a good deal ruder and more outspoken..."

* * *

Cersei Lannister had grown even more beautiful since Lysa had seen her last, so that only Ser Arthur's sister and Cat were lovelier than her.

Three of the ladies who were to be Lysa's companions made a particular impression.

She quite liked Lady Ashara, with Ser Arthur's bright violet eyes (not truly purple, like the prince's, but so blue they were _almost _purple) but not his white-fair hair. Lady Ashara had darker hair than Lysa had ever seen before, except for one long thin streak of milky-white behind her left ear, but that only seemed to add to her allure, somehow. She laughed easily, smiled constantly, and was more affectionate than Lysa was used to, kissing the other ladies on the cheek when they made a jest that amused her, holding their hands constantly (holding Lysa's most of all).

Lady Elia, who was clearly as close to Lady Ashara as Lysa was to Cat, was very different - she was as delicate as the Queen, who sat at Lysa's side, at first glance, but then she smiled and something wicked and delightful flashed in her lovely dark eyes and Lysa was convinced that there wasn't a woman as strong in all the Seven Kingdoms, aside perhaps from Queen Rhaella herself.

And then there was Lady Cersei, who sat as far from Lysa as she could and did nothing but glare and spit poison the whole afternoon. Lysa was nearly in tears when the prince and Ser Arthur came to collect her for their walk, and though she tried to hide it, both men noticed - and the prince turned his sad eyes on Lady Cersei, who preened under his gaze, faltering only when his displeasure became apparent in the downturn of one corner of his lips.

"I do hope my lady has been made welcome," he said, his voice no louder than it always was when he spoke to Lysa but a little harder. "This _is_ to be her home more even than any of yours, my ladies."

He turned to Lysa then, offered her his hand, and smiled just a little.

"If you will, my lady?"

* * *

"Lady Cersei and Lady Elia both were put forward as brides for my son," Queen Rhaella whispered that night - she had called for Lysa to be her bedmate for the night - when they'd settled into her mounds of soft rose-pink pillows. "Their mothers were my companions when we were children, dear friends both, and we always wished for our children to marry once I went so long without birthing a daughter."

"They are very beautiful," Lysa said pensively.

"As are you, my sweet," the Queen said softly - there was much of his mother in the prince's manner, Lysa had found. "With such wonderful fire in your hair."

She shivered at that, quieted when the Queen stroked a delicate hand over her cheek, and willingly held her goodmother-to-be's hand as they curled closer and drifted to sleep.

Lysa dreamt of fire that night, and woke sweating and longing for a swim in the chill of the Tumblestone in the early morning to cool her flushed skin.


	4. Chapter 4

On the morning of Lysa's wedding, she awoke to an army of maids bustling about her rooms - her temporary rooms, for after tonight she would be moved to the suite adjoining the Prince's - and a small army of ladies waiting to help her.

She was grateful for Cat's constant presence - her sister never left her side for a moment, even going so far as to scrub her back in the bath, humming the soft lullaby Lysa half-remmebered Mother singing to them and holding her hand when she started to worry - but was surprised by how nice it was to have the Queen there, too.

Queen Rhaella and Cat left Lysa's hair to nimble-fingered Lady Ashara and gentle Lady Elia (she was as grateful for Lady Cersei's absence as for Cat's presence), and while Cat sorted carefully through the exquisite jewels that had once belonged to their mother, the Queen sat in front of Lysa and smiled the same soft, sad smile as the Prince.

"You will be a worthy Targaryen," she said, rubbing a lightly scented cream into Lysa's hands to make them soft. "There have been few enough queens from without the family across the years, but you will stand among the best of them, I know it now."

Lysa was not so naive as some thought - Robert Baratheon's assertion that she was merely a toy with which the King might taunt Tywin Lannister had taken her by surprise, but she had been aware that her marriage was not some great romantic adventure, regardless of how much it might seem that the Prince walked straight from one of her songs, before she overheard the great boor talking. Father had sat her down and told her as much, explained some of the current climate - that the King was mad, that Lord Tywin had held the true power for a long time and was now a potential enemy of the crown, that this marriage could well hold the peace for a time by providing the Prince with an heir of _diluted _Targaryen blood and therefore make him a more stable prospect in the event that the King could be removed.

But Lysa had sworn never to speak of that, because such things were treasonous, and Father had only told her so that she might be aware of her position, precarious as it would be until she produced a healthy son.

Still, for providing some measure of stability, for being an instrument to stave off a civil war - for that alone, she might have stood among the finest Targaryen queens. _Like Queen Naerys, but able to marry her Dragonknight._

Her gown was exquisite - soft silver-blue, silk and Myrish lace and more extravegant than anything she'd ever worn before, she felt impossibly beautiful when she stood before the mirror in her wedding gown, her hair gathered up in soft curls that were pinned back from her face and spilled down her back, threaded through with long strings of seed pearls and deep blue lapis beads.

Father came in then, and politely asked for a moment alone with her - she bid the Queen and Lady Ashara and Lady Elia farewell, for Cat would travel to the sept with her and Father and Edmure and Uncle Brynden, and they would enter ahead of her and Father so that Edmure would not have long to fuss before the ceremony.

"You look beautiful, sweetling," he said quietly as he wrapped the heavy chequered cloak around her shoulders, standing a little way back so he could adjust the drape and then stepping closer, resting his hands on her shoulders and his chin on her crown. He often did that with Cat, and Lysa had always been jealous - it helped, a little, that he would do it for her now, when she most needed his reassurance. "A worthy bride for a Targaryen, that much I know."

Father had never had a petname for Lysa as he did for Cat - he and Uncle Brynden both had always called Cat _Little Cat - _but for the first time, Lysa wondered if she had mayhaps been harsh in her assessment of Father's regard for her.

* * *

Prince Rhaegar's hands did not shake as he replaced her Tully red-and-blue with Targaryen black-and-scarlet, but her own did. They shook even more when he took her face in his hands and guided her mouth to his own, when he kissed her for the first time in front of so very many people, including the King who so openly disliked her (she had seen him looking at Cat, and wondered if he, like most everyone else, thought that the taller, beautiful Tully sister would have made a worthier bride for the Prince had the Starks not ensnared her so early).

The Prince smiled, though, when he leaned away from her, and then he offered her his arm and guided her out into the sunlight, into the carriage that would return them to the Red Keep for the feast.

"Are you happy, my lady?" he asked softly as they rattled up Aegon's hill, sitting closer together than would have been proper even just a few hours before. Lysa felt suddenly dizzy at the realisation of how her life had changed - could she really be a _princess?_ - and swayed in her seat, right into the Prince's arms.

"It was very warm in the sept," he said, but he was smiling and his eyes were bright. "I will see that you have something cool to drink when we reach the keep, my lady-"

"Lysa," she said, blushing at her daring. "Please, your highness, please use my name?"

Petyr had always called her _my lady_ when they played at kissing games and things when Cat was away, and she wondered if it was because he had been pretending that she _was_ Cat. He had seemed quite cheerful at the prospect of her marrying, after all, but hated Brandon Stark more than anyone in the world.

"Very well, Lysa," he said, and she blushed even more to have him really using her name, "but only if you promise to use _my_ name, as I have asked you already."

"I- I will try, your- Rhaegar, I mean."

He smiled again, and he kept an arm around her as he helped her down out of the carriage, and kept her close as he guided her inside.

Lysa wondered how to tell when you were in love, and she wondered if she might fall in love with her prince.

* * *

Lysa saw Rhaegar Targaryen laugh for the first time when they led the dancing.

"Why, sweet Lysa, you have hidden a most enviable talent from me!" he said brightly, and then as she skipped lightly through a complicated pass - she and Cat practised those same steps only days before they left Riverrun - he twirled her about in delight and laughed, throwing back his head as he gathered her back into his arms once more. "And I am told that you sing as sweetly as a lark as well - you must sing for us, my lady!"

She managed to convince him not to make her sing, and before he could reach for his silver harp and sing a song for her himself, as he vowed he would, Robert horrid Baratheon was calling for the bedding and (or at least, so it seemed to Lysa) every man in the hall was converging on her, tearing at her hair and her gown and-

And Ser Arthur swept her up into his arms as easily as if she weighed nothing at all, while she was still in her shift and stockings and smallclothes and slippers, and he winked before darting on ahead of the crowd of drunken revellers, easily outstripping them even in his armour.

"His highness asked that either myself or Prince Lewyn come to your aid, my lady," he confided in a whisper, winking as he nudged open the door of the bedchamber before Robert Baratheon and his friends had even reached the top of the stairs. "Just as I asked my sister and yours to come to his - he is oblivious to his own charms, I think."

Somehow, that was a comfort, and then Lysa was alone in the vast bedchamber as she awaited her prince's arrival.


	5. Chapter 5

Lysa woke slowly the following morning, and for a brief moment, she forgot where she was - it felt as though she were alone in the bed, alone in _her _bed, home in Riverrun, but then she opened her eyes and the pillow beneath her head was the smoothest of red silk, embroidered with coiling black satin thread, and she remembered.

Well, the ache between her legs helped her memory along, of course, although she remembered no pain during the night. Far from it, in fact.

When she rolled over onto her back, it was to find the Prince _Rhaegar, I must call him by his name_, sitting up with a heavy book resting against his raised knees.

He was naked, aside from what the book hid, and Lysa might have blushed had she not been just as bare but for the soft blankets that matched the pillows.

"You are awake," he said, smiling without his habitual sadness but with less enthusiasm than Lysa might have hoped for, given how they had spent the previous hours. "I had hoped not to disturb you, my lady - I rise early, but wished to remain with you until you woke."

She blushed at that - no one had ever thought to worry for her in such a way save Cat, and it was wholly different then - and sat up, clutching the covers close over her breasts and ducking her head. Her hair tumbled down around her face, hiding her from the- from Rhaegar, and him from her, but before she could do anything about that, he gently gathered it and settled it over her right shoulder, and cupped her jaw in his hand.

"Princess Lysa," he said with a smile. "Shall we present you to our people, sweet Lysa?"

* * *

She found herself, after the morning meal and much bawdy cheering from the irrepresible and, as usual, disgusting Robert Baratheon and his friends, sitting in what was now _her_ solar, amongst the apartments of the royal family, with her companions - Cat, Lady Elia, Lady Ashara, Lady Cersei, Lady Mina Tyrell, a handful of others whose names she did not know yet, not beyond a flurry of introductions that left her more confused than informed.

Also with them was Lady Elia's little son - Olyvar Hightower looked as much like his mother as his father had insisted, but his hair was sandy-fair and curly, and his smile was entirely his father's. He was a sweet boy, just gone two years old and enthused with everything, most especially Lysa and Cat's hair.

"He is not usually so taken with strangers, Princess," Lady Elia laughed, scooping Olyvar up into her lap and kissing his curls. "Please, pardon him - he means no harm."

Lysa looked up from dangling the end of her braid for the little boy to play with, catching both Lady Elia's warmth and Cersei Lannister's scorn, and chose to ignore the latter - she had the beginnings of friendship with Elia Hightower and Ashara Dayne and Mina Tyrell, and she had Cat, and she had the Queen and Rhaegar. What was Cersei Lannister and her jealousy to all that?

* * *

Sharing a bed with Prince Rhaegar was nothing like Lysa might have expected.

Cat had asked her, in a hushed whisper as she combed her hair the night after the wedding, what it was like to lie with a man, and Lysa had not known what to tell her.

"Sweet," she had said, for so it had been - he had whispered of her beauty as he kissed along her skin, as he had touched her gently with careful hands, and she had been so hungry for him (yes, hungry, it had been nothing like Septa had said it would be) that it hadn't even hurt when he took her maidenhead.

Septa had warned that it might hurt even after that, but Lysa had never felt anything but pleasure in bed in the weeks since her wedding, and every morning she awoke to find either that the Prince (Rhaegar Rhaegar Rhaegar) had risen before her and was reading in bed, or that he was still asleep, and he had kept her in his arms all through the night.

* * *

She knew that he did not love her - they knew each other so little, after all, and Lysa had always been well prepared for there being little love in her marriage, but he was kind to her, and impossibly gentle, and that was more than enough to allow her some happiness even if he did not listen to her, invite her to discuss matters of state and ruling with him over their evening meal, which he always took care to share with her.

He treated her as though she were intelligent, which was such an unusual thing that she had a difficult time in coming to terms with it. She was well used to being clever Cat's quite shadow, and few had ever thought to wonder if she had opinions. Prince Rhaegar did, as did Lady Elia and Lady Ashara.

But they were Dornish - Lady Elia's mother had inherited ahead of her uncles, in Dorne, they _listened_ to women - and she had thought little of it until Lady Mina began to do the same, and Lady Darlessa ignored her niece's poison glares and talked at length of music, which was mayhaps the one thing Lysa was confident in her knowledge of.

And Queen Rhaella - she above all made Lysa feel valued. Lysa had become the Queen's sole confidant, it seemed, because as far as Lysa could tell - not that she dared to ask anyone - the King had forbidden his Queen any companions of her own, and she seemed reluctant to sit with Lysa and her companions, for whatever reason, despite daily invitations.

But Lysa sat with the Queen for the midday meal every day, and she listened when her goodmother spoke in her quiet, sad voice, and spoke in return and told Rhaella of her dreams and wishes, told her things that even Cat did not know.

And then Rhaella told Lysa something that Lysa herself did not know, near two moons after the wedding.

"Sweetling," she said softly, taking Lysa's hand and smiling. "I think you'd best see a maester - not Pycelle though, foul old thing."

"Your grace?"

"I believe you may be with child," Queen Rhaella said, and she smiled, truly smiled as she never had before, when Lysa's hand went to her belly.


	6. Chapter 6

Rhaegar was sincerely delighted when Lysa came to him and told him that yes, she was indeed with child - so delighted that he spun her around in the air and kissed her soundly on the mouth, even though Cat and Ser Arthur and Prince Lewyn were in the room.

Being with child made Lysa consider things differently - she began to worry who at court she could trust, began to wonder which of the Kingsguard would best be suited to guard her babe. She sat with the Queen for hours, looking through the Targaryen histories and imagining what names her child might bear, what names her _children_ might bear. She began to wonder if there was some way to send Cersei Lannister, who watched Rhaegar with such hungry eyes and so openly scorned Lysa and Cat and Elia and Ashara and Mina, and sometimes, though never explicitly, never openly, poor sweet Queen Rhaella, too.

Lysa watched the way Elia and Ashara in particular handled Lady Cersei - Cat was icily polite, ever the proper Lady of Riverrun who stood by Father's side all these years, and Mina merely laughed at every cut and jibe about the Reach, but the Dornishwomen hum _The Rains of Castamere _as a mockery, and though none would ever dare laugh aloud, for such a thing would be impossibly rude, there was never a woman in the room, save for Lady Cersei herself, who was not fighting back a smile.

Prince Lewyn and Ser Arthur, who so often guarded Lysa, had taken to humming it as well, but only while escorting her from the room if Lady Cersei was still present. That lapse in decorum from brothers of the Kingsguard gave Lysa more confidence than anything, because it spoke of a support of _her_, and that paired with the fact that _she _was Rhaegar's wife, that _she _was carrying the second-in-line to the Iron Throne, that enabled her to ignore Cersei Lannister and her poisonous manner.

Lysa still did not touch a crumb Lady Cersei had handled or even passed near, for fear of a more literal poison.

* * *

She wrote to Father and Uncle Brynden, away home at Riverrun, and told them her wonderful news. Father wrote back in reply, a long letter full of praise and encouragement and a sort of affection that she remembered receiving from him but once, on the day of her wedding.

More importantly, though, he sent the letter by Uncle Brynden's own hand.

The Blackfish was as gruffly affectionate as ever with Cat, as careful and sweet as ever with Lysa, but he seemed warmer than before towards Rhaegar.

"We had heard rumours that the prince was mad, too," he confided in a whisper as Lysa led him to his rooms, Prince Lewyn a respectful distance away. "A gentler madness than the King, true, but mayhaps moony madness is excusable when he makes you smile so, girl."

And Lysa smiled constantly, she knew it herself - she had never been so happy, and the little firm swell of her belly drove her almost mad with elation. Rhaegar, too, seemed wild with happiness, or at least, wild for him. He smiled so readily now, and some of the melancholic shadows seemed to have left his deep eyes. Lord Jon and Ser Arthur both had mentioned it to Lysa, how light the prince's heart had been these past weeks since the announcement that she was with child, and it warmed her to think that she had had a hand in that.

Uncle Brynden being at court, though, was a strange sort of peril, for he was as gentle and sweet to Queen Rhaella as he was to Lysa, and that seemed to displease the King - so much, in fact, that Rhaegar spoke to Lysa of it.

"My father is a jealous man," he murmured, stretched out alongside her on their bed, one long-fingered hand splayed gently over her swelling belly, the other supporting his head. Lysa was only half-listening to his words, because he often spoke of _ice and fire_ and such things when they were together like this, after he had gently made love with her, while they caught their breaths, and because he was so beautiful, lean and strong and _hers. _"He does not like it when other men so much as speak with my mother."

Lysa listened after that, and shared Rhaegar's concerns with Uncle Brynden - he frowned, and seemed not to like it, but he accepted Rhaegar's warnings as wisdom and was merely polite to the Queen from there on.

* * *

Lysa had been sure that Viserys, Rhaegar's little brother, hated her from the moment she arrived at King's Landing - he hid behind Ser Jaime's legs and glared at her, tugged on the Queen's skirts and Rhaegar's hand whenever he found either of them with her, and hid if he noticed her approaching.

But as soon as she started showing to the point where she needed new gowns, ones with high waistlines and softer bodices to accomodate her sensitive breasts, he seemed to gravitate towards her, shuffling into her solar ostensibly to play with Oly Hightower, but in reality because he seemed almost fascinated by her now.

"Sister?" he whispered, tugging on her skirts as she chatted with Mina and Cat. He looked very like Rhaegar, although his features were slightly sharper, more the shape of the King's than the Queen's, and his hair was a touch fairer, his eyes a lighter purple. "Is what Mother says true?"

Lysa turned properly to face him and held out her hands - he was of an age with Edmure, or near enough, but was much more timid. _I would be timid, too, _she thought, _had I a father such as Aerys Targaryen. _He took them uncertainly, but smiled just a little.

"What does Her Grace say, my prince?" she asked, crouching as low as her belly allowed to bring her face closer to his.

"Mother says that you are to have a babe," he whispered conspiratorially, glancing up at Cat and then at Mina. "And that I am to be its uncle."

"You are, my prince," she agreed, keeping her voice low and sitting gratefully when Prince Lewyn appeared from nowhere with a stool. "Would you like to be an uncle?"

His eyes flashed wide - had anyone ever asked him if he'd like something, she wondered, and she felt very sad for him, because Rhaegar, in his distant way, was fond of his brother, and the Queen loved him very much, but he did not seem to have any friends and nobody seemed to pay him much mind save for Queen Rhaella - and he nodded fiercely, and his eyes went wider still when she guided one of his hands to her belly.

"This babe is very lucky to have such an uncle as you, my prince," she whispered, and later that night Rhaegar laughed over dinner and told her that he did not know what she had done, but he suspected that Viserys would challenge him for her hand as soon as he could hold a sword.


	7. Chapter 7

Before the King could do anything to truly endanger Lysa or the babe - a fear she knew Rhaegar held as entirely real - they departed the city, with a veritable army of companions, for Lord Whent's tourney at Harrenhall.

Travelling was uncomfortable with the weight of the babe making her back bow and ache, but Rhaegar did everything he could to ease her way, and Elia's company in the wheelhouse was indispensible - and Ashara and Cat and Mina always rode close at hand, so that Lysa needed only to throw open the windows to speak with her sister and her friends.

How wonderful it was to have friends! She had only ever had Cat, before, Cat and Petyr, and now she had clever, beautiful women who seemed to sincerely like her as only Cat had ever seemed to before. It was thrilling, in a quiet sort of way.

She particularly liked Mina - oh, she liked Elia and Ashara well enough, but Mina was witty and cheerful and liked sweets even more than Lysa did, and her children - twin boys, not much younger than Viserys but much brighter, happier - were just as cheerful. Lysa had taken to encouraging Viserys to play with them, to play at swords under the master-at-arms careful watch whenever he could get outside, and she felt that it had helped him a little. He was not so quiet and reserved now, nor quite so distrusting. He had ridden all the way from King's Landing on a little pony at Rhaegar's side, chattering eagerly to his brother.

Lysa wondered at Rhaegar, sometimes - she was still a little in awe of him, but she worried that he would exhibit the same distance with their babe as he often did with his brother. She hoped not, but there was a curious degree of removal in the way he interacted with everyone, even she, his wife. Cat had told her that she need not worry, that his face lit up every time he looked to the swell of Lysa's belly, but she still _did_ worry.

Mina's husband was due to meet them at Harrenhall, along with her brother and his wife - Lysa was looking forward to meeting them, because Mina spoke fondly of all three and Lysa had noted that generally, Mina's judgement was quite accurate.

"Did you know," she whispered as they rode through the gates of the horrible castle, having joined Lysa and Elia in the wheelhouse when her horse lost a shoe, "that Lord Connington is in love with your lord husband?"

"_Mina!"_ Elia laughed, shaking her head. "You must not say such things where they might be overheard!"

Lysa had noted Lord Jon's uncommon devotion to her husband, of course. It was so obvious that she couldn't see how she would have missed it, honestly, but the notion of two men being in love...?

"It's no sin, Elia," Mina pointed out with a grin. "Why, I'm told that the pleasures of a woman's body are quite as lovely as our menfolk would have us believe."

Elia's smile was a quiet, disarming thing, and she shared it then with a click of her tongue. Lysa was stunned - did people think such things? She had been raised to think that such things should only be shared between a man and his wife, but... Elia was Dornish, and everyone said that things were different in Dorne, but Mina was from the Reach, and the Faith was stronger in the Reach than anywhere else in the Seven Kingdoms, wasn't it?

"Don't look so shocked, Lysa," Elia said gently. "Doubtless some septa or other told you that such things were evil, or else behaved as if such things do not happen at all - poor Jon will pine after Rhaegar forever and a day, but Rhaegar has no interest in him as anything more than a friend. Even if he had, I do not think Rhaegar the sort of man to dishonour his marriage for a thrill, sweetling."

Lysa would have asked more questions, had Ashara and Cat not knocked on the door, smiling and laughing, to tell them that they had arrived, and she was suddenly so nervous at the thought of appearing to so many people as a Princess for the first time that Lysa thought she might be sick.


End file.
